


Hunters in the Dark

by extremelyperturbed



Series: Darkness [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Body Horror, Cannibalism, F/M, M/M, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremelyperturbed/pseuds/extremelyperturbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Per a kinkmeme request, Hannibal is literally a monster.  Will Graham is a member of the same species but doesn't know it.  Hannibal plans to awaken that part of Will with specially prepared food and unusual courtship gifts.  Beverly Katz has an old friend drive into town who believes that the Chesapeake Ripper isn't just figuratively a monster.</p><p>Darker and more serious than my usual fare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunters in the Dark

It was the smell that had revitalized Hannibal. Life had its pleasures to be sure, good wine, good music and plentiful prey to hunt, but much of life was spent in a sort of half-life of going through the motions to blend in. He envied the simple and easy pleasures that humans could indulge in, seeing and talking with each other as one member of a species to another. True, he could mimic having relationships with them but it was truly not the same.

He had, at most, anticipated adding another boring client to his workload until he had caught the light but unmistakable scent of a fellow ravenstag. He briefly wondered if he was mistaken so he discreetly sniffed again and it was definitely there. He focused his attention on the source of that smell. The source was the man standing next to Jack Crawford. However, Will Graham had shown no sign of recognizing him as a fellow ravenstag or anything out of the ordinary, only displaying the irritation one has for a medical provider that he did not choose.

Hannibal went home that night and looked up what he could on the internet about the man and made a call to a detective he occasionally used for discrete inquiries. After a week, he had compiled the following information: 

Will Graham was born in Louisiana, raised primarily by his father as his mother had disappeared during his early childhood. While his father had a traceable ancestry and history, there was little to no information about her. The relationship between father and son was cool, at best. Will had bounced from school to school and led a mostly solitary life into adulthood. He had gone to New Orleans to work as a cop, worked in forensics, did some work in the field then became an instructor at the FBI Academy in Quantico. 

Hannibal looked at the pictures of Will that the detective had found from his time at various high schools, college and on the force in New Orleans. Just looking at what’s before me, he thought, it would appear that he’s nothing more than a very talented human. But then there’s his mother . . . Will could be very much the cuckoo’s chick deposited into an unsuspecting warbler’s nest. 

He frowned at that, however. It wasn’t typical of their kind to abandon their children like that. He thought, It is most likely that she had gone hunting and had been killed by a hunter, far from home and had been assumed to have abandoned Will. He must have grown up without ever realizing what he really was. 

Hannibal took a sip of red wine. It all made sense now, the social isolation, the distance between Will and his father, and the need for empathy in order to function in society at all. If this is true, then it’s going to be very difficult to make him realize what he really is. Then he smiled, He’s such a young faun and I have so much to teach him. 

***

They found the latest victim in a restaurant freezer with a large incision down his abdomen, the flaps hanging loose because of the large amount of tissue removed. On a nearby table, there were a dozen white ’roses’ carved from his fat connected to green felt ‘stems‘ and wrapped in paper as if they were a bouquet.

“The killer wanted to make a romantic gesture," said Will.

Jack nodded. “Yes but to whom?”

“I don’t believe it’s anybody connected to the victim or the business. He was just the source material for the ’flowers,’” said Will. “In the language of flowers, white roses say ‘I am worthy of you.’” 

Noting the collapsed eyeballs, Brian said, “Whoever killed him also sucked all the vitreous humor out of his eyes.”

***

“I hope that you are feeling a little adventurous today,” said Hannibal. He had managed to make brunches with Will a weekly thing and decided today was the day to test an idea of his.

“Why?”

“I made steak tartare and a panna cotta.”

Will looked hesitant. “Isn’t steak tartare raw?”

“Yes, but I trust the butcher. I seared the outside of the cut of meat to destroy the bacteria, cut away the cooked part of the meat then ground the rest myself to minimize any problems. I have eaten this dish many times and I have never suffered even the slightest gastric hiccup.”

“What’s panna cotta?”

“It is an Italian dessert made of cream, milk, sugar and gelatin,” said Hannibal. And a certain jelly-like secret ingredient, he added mentally.

“I’ll try it.”

Hannibal quickly plated what was in his Tupperware. There was a small circular mound of ground meat on Will’s plate surrounded by pieces of toasted bread on one plate and the panna cotta was on another smaller dish. Hannibal made a set for himself.

Hannibal used a spoon and put some of the meat on the piece of toast and ate it. Will did the same before popping it into his mouth. “What do you think?” said Hannibal.

“It’s good. A little spicy.”

“It is flavored.” Hannibal watched with delight as Will quickly polished off the rest of the meat. 

Will took a spoon of the gelatinous white sweet and took it into his mouth. He paused.

“Is it not to your liking?”

Will swallowed it. “It has a certain flavor I can’t place. I mean, I like it but I can’t name it.”

“Could it be vanilla?”

“No, it’s . . . It’s probably a secret ingredient.”

“Yes, yes it is. But one day I promise to teach you what it is.” 

***

Hannibal was pleased when he noticed that Will’s smell had gotten slightly but noticeably stronger at their next appointment in his office. The extra work it took to feed another besides himself and make delicacies was well worth it for the sweet, musky smell that was more intoxicating than any perfume created by man.

“Did you just smell me?”

Hannibal felt a little embarrassed for being caught enjoying his scent. “Difficult to avoid. I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave. That smells like something with a ship on the bottle.” 

“Well, I keep getting it for Christmas.”

“I might get you something better for Christmas.”

Will gave him a puzzled look. “I might not be able to guarantee I’ll be here for our next appointment.”

“Why?”

“There’s been another murder. I might have to go out of town.” 

“I understand. Is there anything specifically that you would like to talk about?”

They sat down in their respective chairs. 

“I . . . Something happened at the last crime scene that I found disturbing, well, more disturbing than usual. The killer had sculpted a man’s fat into a bouquet of white flowers. It seemed to be a romantic gesture.”

“I do not disagree with your assessment.” Hannibal had to use his usual steely control to keep from smiling. “But to whom?”

“I don’t think it was to anyone connected with the victim or the crime scene. I think it was directed toward someone who’s part of our team.”

“But you’re not sure, who the recipient is supposed to be?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

“However, once we figure out who the person is, he or she might be put into protective custody.”

“I see.” Having Will kept away from me will not do, he thought. He mentally scratched off his list of ideas a portrait of Will he had been planning to make out of white bone and bone scorched black because that would restrict his access to Will and cut down on any future brunches.

***

Jack rubbed his face. Fucking Chesapeake asshole, he thought as he stood near another victim that was lying in a field. The victim was lying face down, naked, and his arms and legs were missing. The pale skin of his back obviously had been stenciled in blood then fixed with a preservative with the following words:

“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.  
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.  
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day  
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.“

“What is that?” said Jack.

“It looks like a poem,” said Will.

Beverly pulled out an Ipad mini and searched using the phrases and said, “It‘s part of a Pablo Neruda‘s love sonnet.” 

Will closed his eyes. “He stenciled it because he’s afraid that his handwriting would give him away. He must either have unusual handwriting or familiar in order to stencil this.”

“Maybe his handwriting is hieroglyphic so he used a stencil in order to make it legible,” said Jimmy. “I can barely read my doctor’s handwriting on my prescriptions.”

Will just shook his head. “No, I just don’t see this person having poor handwriting.”

Beverly frowned. “It looks like someone’s doing some heavy duty courting. Flowers, poetry, what the hell else?”

“Candy?” said Brian. 

Jimmy made vomiting noises until Jack glared at him.

***

Hannibal looked at Will and frowned. “It appears that you have not been eating well. You really must take care of yourself.” His worry on that point was not feigned. A lack of appetite would slow down the progress of Will’s Becoming.

“I’m tired and traveling doesn’t do anything for my appetite.”

“I hope that you will find it in yourself to partake of today’s brunch.”

“I’ll try. What did you make?”

“I made some comfort food because I figured you wanted something that would be easy to go down and be hearty and satisfying. I made you rabbit and dumplings, and an apple pie.” Hannibal had made the pie crust out of human lard that he had melted, strained then formed into something he could use as shortening. As for the rabbit and dumplings, this time the meat was actually rabbit but the stock was made from the bones of a man who ran across a deserted street in the middle of the night, wearing black from head to toe and then screamed at Hannibal for nearly running him over. He could not be sure that Will would not be familiar with game.

“I don’t understand,” said Will.

“Understand what?”

“Why you spend so much time making food for me?”

“I enjoy making food for my friends. It’s like a part of me is accepted with every mouthful.”

After Hannibal warmed up and plated the rabbit and dumplings, Will said, “I’ve got some vanilla ice cream in the fridge for the apple pie if you like.”

“I don’t think that the pie goes well with ice cream,” Hannibal said. He mentally cursed himself for not having made ice cream but then reassured himself that ice cream would have likely softened too much by the time he got to Will’s house. 

Will, at first, ate the rabbit and dumplings slowly then with a much heartier appetite. 

Hannibal knew that Will did not know this but a ravenstag had to prove his worthiness as a suitor by providing pleasing delicacies to one’s intended. In the very old days, the gifts used to be freshly caught animals but as they had to blend in with the prey society, they had picked up the art of cooking. His ego was terribly flattered by Will’s enjoyment and praise. He hoped that as Will continued to be changed by the flesh he was eating, that it would also, at least on a subconscious level, awaken ancestral memories, much like some birds automatically knew what song to sing even though they had never been taught. 

“This is the most amazing crust. How do you do it?”

“I use solid fat, not oil. Also in order to keep it flaky, I substitute vodka for most of the water. The alcohol evaporates, leaving a very tender and flaky crust.”

“Vodka? Wow.” 

***

The murder scene was particularly nasty. The victim, a telephone solicitor for a bogus charity, was completely deboned except for her skull. Her body was left to look like an empty skin suit. Besides her was a peculiar mosaic made of human bone charred black of a magnificent elk that was life-size.

“I don’t get it,” said Brian.

“It’s well done except for the fact that it’s made out of people,” said Jimmy. 

“He must have used bones from dozens of people to make this,” said Beverly, noting mentally that most of the bones were on the small size, about the size of the bones in the feet and hands. He had obviously been trying to mimic the mosaics done by the Greeks and Romans.

Will felt a bout of nausea and clamped a hand over his mouth. It wasn’t the gore that was making him sick. It was the fact that someone had peeked into his mind and saw the animal that had begun haunting him in his dreams. He hadn’t even told Hannibal about it so how could the Ripper know? Or was it that his mind was able to take a leap and know the animal that was in the Ripper’s mind? The very idea disgusted him. And it frightened him that this was being done because of an obsession with him.

“Will, are you OK? If you need to step away, go ahead. I wouldn’t want you to contaminate the crime scene,” said Jack.

“I’m fine,” said Will, knowing that’s what Jack wanted to hear. Will was not in the mood to tell Jack that his nightmare animal was the same as the killer’s artwork.

***

After a long day at the lab, Beverly was drinking a glass of white wine and reading ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ at her kitchen table when her cell phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me, Dean.”

“Dean Winchester?” She heard a chuckle on the other end.

“Surprised I’m still alive?”

“A bit, I know what you do. It has been three years since you helped me with my dad. I’m going to assume that this isn’t purely a social call.” 

“No, it’s not. I’ve been keeping track of the Chesapeake Ripper on the news and that tattle website.”

“I’d be sure to take anything Freddie Lounds writes with a grain of salt. But why are you keeping track of a serial killer?”

“Because I think that serial killer is a monster, a real one. Can I drive over and talk?”

“Where are you right now?” 

“I’m in a motel in West Virginia. I’ll be at your place tomorrow after I find a place to stay.”

“You seriously think it’s something non-human.”

“Let’s just say I have my suspicions.”

“Stay at my place. We’ve been trying to find this bastard for ages.”

***

“Will, you look upset,” said Hannibal as Will walked into his office for another of their sessions.

“I am upset. I think my ability to empathize has crossed straight into telepathy.” Will sat in his chair and rubbed his face.

“Why is that?”

“I’ve been having dreams about this huge black elk with antlers. And then I go to the crime scene and there’s mosaic of the same animal on the ground.”

“Perhaps the killer’s previous crime scenes had suggested the animal to you,” said Hannibal.

Will shook his head. “No, I know for sure that there was nothing about it in the crime scenes. I think I also figured out that all this is being done to reach me.”

“Have you told Jack what you believe?”

“No. I don’t think he’d understand.”

“Tell me. That’s what I’m here for. Take as much time as you need.”

***

Later that night, Will got home and noticed that there was a message on his answering machine. He pressed the button.

“Will, this is Beverly. I know this is a little sudden but could you come over on Saturday for brunch. I want to discuss the Ripper case.”

Will picked up the phone and called her number. “Beverly?”

“Hi, Will.”

“I don’t mind coming over for brunch but I’d really rather not talk about the case outside of work. Can’t you talk to me about it while we‘re on the clock?”

“The problem is that some of the ideas I have are a bit unorthodox. You know I’m all about the evidence and the science but . . . I can’t talk about them at work without looking nuts.”

“I . . .”

“Please? I also have someone I want you to meet.”

“This isn’t like a blind date is it?”

“What? No, nothing like that. I just think the two of you would have a lot to talk about.”

Will sighed. “Brunch better be good.”

“I promise I won’t serve stale Lucky Charms and Budweiser for brunch. Thank you so much!”

Will chuckled at that. “Bye.”

“Bye.” 

Will hung up the phone then realized that he had to call Dr. Lecter to cancel their usual brunch. After three rings, he heard him say, “Hello?”

“Um, this is Will Graham. I hope I didn’t wake you up or . . .”

“No, I was just trying out a few new recipes.”

“I have to cancel this week’s brunch with you.”

There was a pause.

“Dr. Lecter?”

“Is there an emergency or did my cooking displease . . .”

“No, nothing like that,” said Will. “Beverly called to invite me over.” God, thought Will, why am I feeling guilty all of a sudden? “She said that she needed to talk to me about the Ripper case, to bounce off a few ideas that she can‘t tell Jack.” Why did I feel the need to justify my going over there, he thought. 

“Are you available on Sunday?”

Will blinked in surprise. “Yeah but you don’t have to rearrange your schedule just to . . .”

“Nonsense,” said Hannibal. “My weekend is free when it comes to you.”

“I confess that I . . .”

“Confess what?”

“That I feel that I should cook you brunch sometime. Or take you out to dinner. I don‘t mean like . . .”

“Mean like . . .”

“I mean . . . just to eat. Though I know your tastes are pretty refined so I don’t know where to take you . . .”

“We’ll talk more about this on Sunday. Don‘t worry about it.”

“Any hint on what you’re making for Sunday?”

“I’ll leave you with the name of one dish. Croissants.”

“You’re making croissants from scratch? I shouldn’t be surprised by now but I know those are hard to make.”

“Not that hard if you carefully prepare everything in advance. And since they will be fresh from the oven, they will be flaky and not just buttery crescent rolls.”

“I should let you go. Bye.”

“Good bye, Will.”

***

As Beverly and Dean sat at her kitchen table, Dean said, “Are you sure it’s such a good idea to tell him?”

Beverly scowled. “I told you not to believe everything that Freddie . . .”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about whether it’s going to do us any good.”

“Jack is good at his job but there’s a reason why he leans on Will so much; he doesn’t have the imagination. Maybe with the things you tell him, he‘ll find that one missing piece that helps us nab the guy. You won‘t believe how much knowing why something‘s being done helps in finding the perpetrator. I also figure that the faster the case is closed, the faster he can go back to teaching and puttering around while surrounded by his pack.”

“His pack?”

“He’s got half a dozen dogs at home.”

Dean whistled. “That’s a lot of kibble.”

“He’s kind of the guy dog version of the cat lady. A stray wanders by and he cuddles it to his bosom . . .”

“You seem pretty fond of him.”

“It’s not like that. It’s more like I can see that this isn’t good for him. Seeing chopped up dead bodies and placing himself in the killer‘s place, day in and day out. He can’t do it forever. I guess I just want him to get out while he can still be happy.” 

“You‘re making me want to root for him, too. However, imagination or no imagination, we have to tell him in a way that won’t make him imagine us in an asylum. If he actually sees or feels something he can’t explain, then we can say that we’ve had stuff like that happen to us too. But only then.”

“Of course.”

“Got any ideas what to make for brunch?”

“Not a clue.”

“Let’s check your fridge.”

***

On Saturday morning, Will woke up, feeling a little under the weather. He swallowed a few aspirin and splashed some water in his face. He considered cancelling but told himself that he had gone to work feeling worse. It must be important for Beverly to insist on talking about it, he thought. 

Will drove over to Beverly’s house. While not as isolated as his house, the backyard was within walking distance of the woods. He noted that there was a black Impala parked in front of her house. He noticed that its style seemed to be from decades ago. She’s in great shape, he thought. Someone must really love this car.

He walked up to the door and knocked. Beverly opened the door and said, “Come in.”

He was surprised to see a man inside her kitchen. He was a very handsome man with green eyes and a welcoming smile, wearing a Metallica T-shirt and jeans. Will briefly wondered if he was Beverly’s boyfriend and thought that if they were, they’d make a cute couple. 

The man said, “I’m making blueberry buttermilk pancakes. Bev’s got an espresso machine so if you want something other than coffee, she can whip up a latte or a cap. I‘m Dean, by the way.”

“I’m Will Graham.” They shook hands.

After Dean plated three dishes worth of pancakes and they all sat down, Will said, “How do you two know each other?”

“He’s a friend of mine. After my father’s funeral, he helped me deal with . . . I guess you could say that he helped me get rid of ghosts from the past.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” said Will.

“Hey, the pancakes are getting cold!” said Dean. 

They all began eating the pancakes. Will knew that the pancakes were good but he couldn’t help thinking about the scrumptious puffy apple pancake that Hannibal had baked for him a few weeks ago. 

After they finished their plates and drank some coffee, Beverly said, “Dean has a theory about the case.”

Will frowned. “You know that we’re not really allowed to talk about cases outside . . .”

“He came to me about it. I didn’t mention the case to him. I did tell him that certain things were likely or not likely based on what I knew.”

“If you have any information about the case, you really need to come forward,” said Will. “I think Jack would love to hear anything about the case.”

Dean and Beverly gave each other a look. 

“What?” said Will.

“Now you know that I’m the Queen of Science, that I don’t tolerate a lot of nonsense, right?” said Beverly.

“Yes,” said Will.

“I know that what Dean has isn’t nonsense but I don’t trust Jack not to think so.”

“You think I’d be more open minded.” 

“Something like that.”

“Show me what you got.”

From a knapsack, Dean took out an old notebook full of newspaper clippings on the table. “I believe that these murders were also done by the Chesapeake Ripper. You can call every newspaper and check every clip in this book. I vouch for their authenticity.”

Will flipped the notebook open and noticed something right off the bat. “Some of these dates on these clips are from the 1970s. You’re saying that the Ripper’s been killing for almost four decades.”

“Maybe even longer. If you read some of the details, they show some of the same theatricality that the Chesapeake Ripper shows.”

Will skimmed through the articles. “It’s an interesting theory but that would make the Ripper in his sixties. The murders I‘ve seen were done by someone strong and vital who can easily overpower men in their twenties and thirties.” Still, he did see some of the similarities between the Ripper’s current murders and the ones in the notebook. “Did you collect all these clips yourself?”

“Only the most recent ones. A friend of mine, Rufus, dug up some of the older ones. He was looking for the killer you call the Ripper in Louisiana from the late seventies through the early eighties. He thought he had figured out who the murderer was but found he was mistaken when the killings continued,” said Dean. “I also believe that the killer is strongly connected to a mythical creature.”

“A mythical creature?”

“It’s called a ravenstag. Now I want you to know that you don’t have to believe in it to believe that someone believes in it. It’s a bit like how some people believe that Paul McCartney is really dead or that we didn’t land on the moon. You don’t have to agree with them to believe THEY believe it.”

“Ok, I get it. I get into the heads of a lot of people with some very strange beliefs with no basis in reality all the time.”

Dean and Beverly were throwing each other slightly worried looks. 

“Go on, Dean,” said Beverly.

Dean put away the notebook with the clippings then pulled out a very old book and pushed away the coffee cups away from it. “Sorry, I borrowed this antique from an old friend who has this huge library. He’d throw a shit fit if anything got on it.” He opened the book to the bookmarked page. “In this Necronomicon, it describes the ravenstag as something akin to but not the same as a wendigo. What they both have in common is that they‘re both a bottomless pit of hunger when it comes to human flesh and dangerous adversaries for anyone hunting them. Silver bullets won‘t kill them but they are extremely painful and a good deterrent. It’s highly resistant to most magic so even witches and low-level demons fear them. If you really want to kill it for good, you have to burn its carcass. It has three shapes. It has a human shape, a shape like that of an elk and its true shape which is that of something in between.” Dean turned the bookmarked pages and showed him the drawings.

The drawings of the man and an elk did not unsettle him but the sight of a thing shaped like a man but with glowing eyes and antlers filled Will with dread and a sense of foreboding. 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You act like you’ve seen these before.”

“I saw a representation of the elk at a murder scene but for some reason, this . . .” Will said, pointing to the third figure. “This feels familiar.” Will felt a headache coming on. 

“I don’t remember seeing anything like it at any of the scenes,” said Beverly.

Will said, “So, are you saying that he worships it or that he thinks he’s one?”

“I’m going with the idea that he thinks he’s one,” said Dean. “Or that if he does this enough, he can become one. I’m not the one with the empathy mojo.” 

Will closed his eyes and thought about what Dean had said. “What you’ve told me about the ravenstag makes sense in context of everything I’ve seen so far. However, I just don’t see a man collecting Social Security doing this. Maybe it’s become a generational legacy where a son took up his father‘s pattern. I just want to know one thing.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so interested in this?”

“Will!” said Beverly.

“It’s a fair question. One night, when I was four, an intruder came into our house, killed my mother and set our house on fire. He escaped but my dad spent years trying to find the guy. So, I guess I feel for people who get screwed by monsters like him. So, if I can help nab this guy, I‘m all aboard doing whatever it takes.”

“I’m sorry I . . .” He had considered very briefly the possibility that Dean might be the Ripper due to the fact that some murderers enjoyed involving themselves in the search for themselves for some sort of twisted game playing satisfaction but this man was not a man who considered himself as being so much higher than others or thought of others as prey. He felt a genuine desire to help from him. 

“No, I get it. You don’t know me from Adam. It’s fine. Just one thing.”

“What?” 

“I don’t want you to talk about what we just talked about to anybody else. Not your boss, not your priest, not your mama, not your shrink, not your friends-with-benefits, nobody outside this room. I don‘t want either me or Bev to end up on that tattle website with our pictures photoshopped so we’re wearing tin hats.”

“I get it,” said Will. “I won’t tell anybody about what you‘ve told me.”

***

“So, how was Beverly’s brunch? I hope it didn‘t upset your stomach,” said Hannibal as he walked through Will’s door the next morning.

Will laughed. “Is this jealousy I’m hearing?” In truth, he felt better when he woke up. 

“I . . .” 

Will smiled at seeing Hannibal briefly tongue-tied. “Your brunches have a slight edge.”

“Slight?” said Hannibal.

“I’m kidding. You‘ve ruined me for all other cooking,” said Will as he walked over to Hannibal. He could see that Hannibal was trying to hide the fact he was pouting. He felt the need to make Hannibal to smile and he lightly brushed his lips against Hannibal’s without thinking, only to have Hannibal wrap his arms and lean towards him so the kiss went on for longer. 

When Will opened his eyes and broke the kiss, he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

“I’m not sorry.” 

Will rested his forehead against Hannibal’s. “I think . . . I think I might be falling for you. I’ve never liked guys this way but . . . “ His mind was a whirl of intense desire and confused pleasure. He just wanted to lean his head against his shoulder and let him stroke his hair.

Hannibal interrupted him with another kiss and slowly backed Will against a wall and proceeded to press his entire body against him. He kissed him along his jaw and nuzzled his neck.

“Dr. . . . Lecter,” moaned Will. 

“Will, please no more formalities. Please call me Hannibal,” whispered Hannibal in his ear.

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal began rubbing his crotch against William’s and murmuring Will’s name again and again in his ear with his hot breath.

Will closed his eyes, arched his back and gasped. His mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ and then he felt weak so that only Hannibal standing against kept him standing up. “Hannibal . . , stop.”

Hannibal paused but did not step away from Will. “What’s wrong?”

“I just came in my pants. I haven’t done this since I was in high school,” Will said, his face red and turned away with embarrassment. “I need to change.”

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“When you come back, I want you to sit on my lap and let me hand feed you.”

Will smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

***

“What are you doing?” said Beverly as she watched Dean bury iron symbols around her house.

“I’m making a protective barrier around your house. They may be resistant to magic aimed at them directly but this’ll keep them from invading your house. Also, you still use a Glock?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got clips of silver ammo for it.” 

“You think it might come here?”

“I’m making sure that if it does, you stay alive.”

“Any clues about where it will strike next?”

“I was kind of hoping your friend could help with that. My own profile about his human form is that he’s probably an older white male who probably is either middle or upper class, someone that people don‘t question. I’m assuming that he’s well educated with a good set of wheels. Since he seems really good at chopping up bodies, I would guess he’s a doctor or butcher.” 

“That’s a pretty good profile. Maybe you should’ve been an FBI agent.”

“If I could do things over again, maybe I would have been.” Dean took his shovel and buried the symbol. 

***

Hannibal knocked on Will’s door. A very tired Will opened the door, his T-shirt and shorts wet with sweat. 

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” said Will. “It’s just that I’ve been feeling under the weather and I thought that I’d get over it but it keeps getting worse.”

“It’s really no bother. Can I come in?” Hannibal almost felt like he was being buffeted by the feverishly sweet smell pouring off him. 

“Yeah.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“I feel kind of hot and achy all over. Last night, I had a dream about everything melting, even time, and when I woke up, my sheets were soaking. I really don’t sweat like this all the time and I hate you seeing me like this . . .”

Hannibal put his hand on Will’s forehead. “Shhh, shhh. You’re feverish. I’m going to draw you a cold bath while I change your sheets. Then I’m going to feed you and give you something to make you feel better. Does that sound good?”

Will nodded.

“Have you called Jack and the Academy to tell them you’re taking a few days off?”

Will shook his head. “No.” 

“I’ll make the calls. Just sit down in the living room and I’ll take care of everything.”

As Hannibal filled the bathtub with cold water, he pondered Will’s symptoms. It’s like he’s entering an accelerated adolescence, he thought. I can smell the changes underneath his skin. He’s feeling his very bones and body chemistry changing. It will be painful and difficult but it will be worth it. I will make it worth it.

***

“What are you doing in my driveway?”

Dean looked up to see Beverly with her arms crossed and with a skeptical look on her face. He looked down at the fuel tank, tubing and other parts. “I’m making a flamethrower.”

“A flamethrower?”

“They’re really hard to kill in hand-to-hand combat even for experienced hunters in their prime. If silver bullets don‘t scare it away, use this.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not going to blow up, Bev. I’ve made these things before.”

“I’m talking more about killing something with fire.”

Dean was quiet before he said, “If it comes down to your life or his life, live.”

***

“Hannibal?” said Will as he opened his eyes to see Hannibal sitting in a chair next to his bed. 

“Yes, Will.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s four o’clock.” 

“I had a strange dream about a whale.”

“A whale?”

“A few years ago, I remember reading a news article about this whale who sings at 52 hertz, a frequency that no other whale sings. It doesn’t travel like the other whales. Scientists don’t even know what species it is, whether it’s a hybrid or malformed or even deaf. It’s healthy and alive and going to live for maybe more than a century more but it’s going to do it all by itself.”

“What happened to the whale in your dream?”

“I dreamed I got in my boat, went off in search of it to comfort it. It ended before I could find it. Strange dream.”

“Do you feel lonely?”

“Sometimes.”

“I feel that way sometimes as well.”

“You’re surrounded by people who respect you and love what you do. Nobody looks at you as if you have a third eye.”

“That may be true but you can still feel like the only one on earth.”

“I must be terrible company right now.”

“Even at your worst, you’re better than everybody else’s best.”

Will squeezed Hannibal’s hand and went back to sleep.

Hannibal sighed. He didn’t want to leave but he had to go and pick up some more supplies and run a few errands. 

***

It was around sunset when the door bell rang. Will opened his eyes, wondering why Hannibal was not there to open it. He sat up and saw the note written in beautiful handwriting explaining that he would be gone for a few hours. Will sighed and slowly dragged himself to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw that it was Dean. He opened the door.

Dean was about to say something when he saw how obviously ill Will was. “Wow, you look like shit.”

“It’s good to see you too,” said Will drily.

“I’m sorry. I was just stopping by to see if you had any ideas about the Ripper case but it looks like you’ve been busy being sick. You look like you need to go to the hospital.”

“I already have a doctor friend taking care of me. I don’t see that a hospital could do a much better job.”

“Ok. I’ll see you later. Maybe I’ll bring something over. Or if you want a second opinion, I can give you a ride.”

“I’m good.”

“Maybe when you’re feeling better, we could go fishing.”

“You fish?”

“When I have time.”

“I’d like that. Say hi to Beverly for me.”

“I will.”

Once he closed the door, Will suddenly collapsed and began having a seizure. 

***

Dean was driving down a back road when the Impala suddenly started to conk out. “No way, I just tuned you up last month.” He glanced in his rear mirror.

A car stopped in back of him. A man got out. Something about him pinged Dean the wrong way and the profile he had for the Ripper immediately came to mind. Dean grabbed his shotgun loaded with cartridges full of silver shot, stepped out of the car and looked at him. “I’ve already called a friend to help with the car and pick me up.”

“It’s not safe out here.”

Dean pointed his shotgun at the man. “Yeah, I know.” The man hadn’t done anything wrong per se but usually when someone wanted to help you, they announced it right off the bat and act worried. And this man . . . This man had come out of the car as if he wanted to stalk him. “I’m fine. You can leave.”

The man stopped walking towards him, gave him what felt to be an appraising eye, then gave a stiff nod and left. Dean memorized the man’s license plate and his features. He was definitely someone to keep an eye on. Dean took out his cell phone and called a tow truck driver in the area he had once helped with a poltergeist. 

***

“Will?” said Hannibal. He had seen the car parked in front of Will’s house, saw Will open the door to him, heard the man suggest going to the hospital and heard the man invite him to fishing. He had gone after the man but the man not only was armed and ready for him unlike most prey but had the stance of an experienced hunter. He might have tried to take on him on if he didn’t have to worry about Will. “Will?”

There was no answer. Hannibal ran to the bedroom and saw that the bed was empty and the covers thrown off. He saw bits of skin and teeth scattered on the ground. He has Become, thought Hannibal. I wasn’t here so he must’ve run off in a panic. He followed the smell outside, towards the woods.

***

“Hello?” said Beverly into her cell phone after she shut off the TV in her bedroom.

“It’s me, Dean.”

“Something wrong?”

“Someone messed with my car. Not only that but I think that someone did it because he wanted to go after me.” 

“You think it was the Ripper?” said Beverly. 

“The guy who parked right behind my car fit my profile to a T.” 

“Are you OK?”

“I pointed my shotgun at him and he figured I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Want me to pick you up?”

“No, I’m with a mechanic friend of mine. I’d feel better, knowing that you’re inside the defensive perimeter I made. I’m going to borrow his truck and drive home as quickly as possible. Be careful.”

“I always am,” said Beverly. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Beverly? Dean?” Beverly heard someone yell. She opened her bedroom window and looked out. She couldn’t see anybody. “Will?” 

“Beverly, I think something’s wrong with me. The last thing I remember was closing the front door and the next thing I know, I'm here.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know how I got here.” 

“I can’t see you.“ She picked up her Glock, ran down the stairs and stepped out on the back porch. It was then that she saw him by the light of the full moon and she aimed her gun at him. 

What stood in front of her was something that looked like Will but there were small horn buds on top of his head and his skin was a midnight blue. His eyes glowed in the darkness and his hands didn’t have nails but claws. He put his hands up and seemed up to be pushing against an invisible wall. “What . . .”

“Dean put up a barrier that keeps out ravenstags. Will, look at yourself.”

Beverly felt terribly sad as she watched him look at himself and see him realize what he was. He began to shake and seemed as if he wanted to throw his body away as if it was a snake he had picked up by accident. 

“I didn’t know. You’ve got to believe me.”

“I believe you but it doesn’t really change things. If the Ripper is a ravenstag and you’re the only ravenstag then . . . You do the math.” The piteousness of his voice broke her heart.

“I can’t be the Ripper,” said Will. “It might be the only thing I know about myself now but I know . . .”

Beverly noticed something out of the corner of her eye and turned to look at it. What she saw totally changed the equation for her. It was a creature, much like what Will was now but more menacing with a full crown of antlers and a more alien vibe. “Oh my God!” Beverly yelled, aimed her Glock filled with silver ammo and fired three times at the monster. The monster was nearly knocked off his feet by the impact of the bullets, regained his footing then glared at her with eyes that glowed in the dark. His chest was marred only by bleeding but shallow wounds. “Why isn’t he going down?” she said, shocked by its resilience.

Will and the monster stared at each other as if transfixed. 

“I see . . . I see everything,” said Will. “You’re the one who‘s been sending messages to me. You’re the Ripper.”

“Yes,” said the monster with a voice that Beverly felt was very familiar.

“And you’re Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiled. “Yes.”

“And you turned me into something like you.”

“No, you have always been a ravenstag. You just didn’t know it. You once told me that you didn’t know who your mother was. She must have been something like us.”

“No . . .”

“Yes, is it really that hard to believe? I just reminded your body of its own truth,” said Hannibal. “Pretending to be human, you were alone even while surrounded by billions of them. You reached out to them and only found imperfect and conditional acceptance. Jack only sees you as an excellent tool. Alana finds you unsuitable. Others find you hard to understand and not worth the effort. Even Beverly pointed a gun at you once she saw you for what you were. You have been alone all your life. I have been alone as well. I’ve been looking for you for centuries.” Hannibal moved towards Will.

“Stop! Leave him alone!” yelled Beverly.

“How sloppy of me,” said Hannibal. “I should’ve asked Will what you talked about during brunch. You’ve actually done your research. If I had known, I would’ve come here earlier and put a stop to this. I underestimated you.”

“You need to undo what you did to him.”

“I didn’t really do anything to Will. You can try to squeeze him back into being a human but it won’t work. Instead of trying to save Will, you might want to concentrate on saving yourself.” 

“I’d say I‘m doing just fine.”

Hannibal laughed harshly. “A barrier and silver bullets . . . Today, they protect you but tomorrow and the day after that . . . A month from now . . . A year? You can‘t always stay at home and barriers can always be undermined . . .”

Beverly picked up the flame thrower she had hidden under some black tarp. 

Hannibal moved further away but did not leave. “Flame thrower . . . You’ll have to get closer if you want to burn me, Beverly Katz.” 

He’s trying to get me outside the barrier, thought Beverly, but it’s the only way I can kill him for certain. 

Will said, “Hannibal, I’ll leave with you. I‘ll go with you, just don‘t hurt her."

Beverly realized that Will had guessed the same thing that she had regarding what was going through Hannibal’s mind and was sacrificing himself for her safety. “No, Will, don‘t do this. I can take him . . .”

“You’re welcome to try, Beverly. And why shouldn’t I take revenge against a woman who has already tried to kill me multiple times?” said Hannibal.

“Beverly?” said Will.

“Yes?”

“If he doesn't agree to what I say then set me on fire.”

"Both of you are bluffing," said Hannibal.

"Press the trigger!" Will screamed.

“Stop!” yelled Hannibal. "Stop! If it's that important to you then I’ll do as you ask but I want you to seal it with a kiss.”

“Will . . . Please don’t. Dean’s coming soon. Just . . .”

Will smiled shakily at her. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry. Please take care of Winston and the others.”

Beverly watched as Will walked over to Hannibal and stood before him, trembling and looking down. Hannibal lifted Will’s chin in a surprisingly tender gesture and kissed him while holding his face. There were tears on Will’s face and Hannibal licked them away before embracing him and stroking his hair. “It’s time to leave this all behind, Will.”

While his arms were still around him, Hannibal looked over Will's shoulder and shot Beverly a look of utter hatred and cold triumph. He stepped back from Will and he transformed into an elk and ran off. Will did the same and followed him. 

“Bev, are you all right?” 

Beverly turned and saw Dean was inside the house, running towards her. “Will’s gone. He‘s gone.”

***

All hell broke loose when Beverly called Jack and told him that Will had suspicions that Lecter was the Ripper and that she had been unable to reach Will after he had expressed his thoughts over Saturday brunch. Jack remembered that Hannibal had been the one to call him to tell him that Will was sick and not Will himself. After Jack and a few agents went to Will’s home and found him missing with bits of his dried skin found all over his bedroom floor, he had other agents search Hannibal’s home. The agents soon found out that various packages of meat stored in his freezer were actually human body parts. They also found the black statue of an elk in his office that resembled the mosaic. There was a nation-wide bulletin about the two with Will being assumed to be either his latest victim or his hostage.

At her kitchen table, each holding a glass of whiskey on the rocks, Beverly said to Dean. “You’ve told your hunter friends about this?”

“They already know.”

Beverly started to cry. “I feel like I totally screwed up. Hannibal got away and I couldn‘t save Will.”

Dean put his arm around her. “Don’t blame yourself. Bev, the most important thing is that he didn‘t make you into hamburger. Hunters more experienced than me have died facing ravenstags. You‘re alive and that’s what matters.”

“You’re leaving to track them down, aren’t you?” she said.

“Yeah, I‘m leaving tomorrow.”

“Be with me tonight.”

He kissed her tenderly. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Rufus Turner killed Will's mother, believing her to be responsible for Hannibal's murders.
> 
> I used Dean because 1) I didn't want to make things too easy for Hannibal, 2) he was a believable way to introduce my twist on the ravenstag mythos, 3) I like the idea of Beverly and Dean working together. 
> 
> This is an AU where Dean hunts by himself and has a wider network of associates he can call on when he needs help. I always had problems with the series for not allowing more people to be back-up. 
> 
> Vodka in pie crust is a real thing.
> 
> I wouldn't mind if Dean/Beverly catches on.


End file.
